It felt as though I had concrete blocks tied to both feet. Through the smelly decomposing bio-matter I sloshed. The mucky mud made every step a challenge, and my legs protested for me to sit.
I passed through a briarwood jungle. The trail was partially obscured in places by thick understory, and thick brambles clawed at the edges of my pack. My brain began to ache. Not in the centralized way that you feel during a sinus infection, but a more generalized pain throbbed throughout my skull.
My vision was out of focus, and thinking clearly became difficult. I stopped sweating.
I had heat exhaustion.
It kind of snuck up on me on Saturday. I didn’t really feel hot. Earlier that morning, a dense cloud of sticky humidity had descended upon the hiking crew. As early as 8am sweat rolled off my brow, but under the thick green canopy, and overcast skies I generally felt cool throughout the hike.
By mid-afternoon the sun burnt off the remainder of clouds. Rays of sunlight pierced the tree tops.
I had planned ahead. Dutifully, I stopped at Resurgence Cave to resupply all of my water. I drank a liter, then drew 3 ½ liters from the cool natural spring. But it didn’t last quite long enough. I looked at my maps and saw what appeared to be a creek approximately one mile before camp. I decided to resupply there for Saturday night.
Much to my dismay, it was an ephemeral stream at the bottom of a large drainage. There was no water to be found. As I stumbled down to the creek bed, another hiker sat in the middle of the waterless stream retching his guts out. I had one liter left. My head and legs throbbing, and blood burning in my veins like anti-freeze, I nearly collapsed onto a nearby rock.
I laid down in the stream bed on my back staring up at the forest canopy, praying that chiggers didn’t eat rock. I pulled out my map and then began to fan myself. My hiker friend was still sick nearby, standing with his hands on knees. I asked him if he had enough water. He told me he had plenty and offered me some.
I closed my eyes and a bitter chill coursed throughout my body. I started to shiver. I fell asleep.
Before leaving, I could hear the other hiker stirring to pick up his pack. He kindly asked me not to fall asleep, and I assured him that I would only nap until the next hiker passed through the area. I slept peacefully (even with the creek rocks poking into my back) for nearly 15-20 minutes.
It is amazing what a little power nap on the trail can do. My blood had cooled. My feet and legs no longer hurt, and my headache was gone. I began to sweat again.
With a resurgence of energy, I picked up my pack and squashed the last mile to camp. Walking through the forest of green Hennessey Hammocks and backpacker tents, another hiker who had already been at camp for a while said hello to me. At first, I didn’t recognize him, and I told him so with slurred speech. He laughed. I’m sure he understood the pain I was in.
Saturday night camp was fun. Those who were not asleep in their tents sat in a semi-circle near the van sucking down Dr. Peppers and Ale-8. I stayed up listening to the hikers gently chide one another until the sun went down. My hammock was cold that night, but I didn’t care. It felt glorious.
The next day I headed out with Chris and Marty about 6:30am. The previous night Steve had told us Sunday would be a five-hour hike. Saturday I briefly discussed with Daniel his plans for the morning, and he said that he and Greg were probably going to leave late. I didn’t want to wait for the sun to reach its brutal apex, so I told him to take care, and that I would see them on next month’s hike.
Sunday morning, just as Steve had advised, dogs waited for us on the road at the beginning of every new property boundary. A large white Labrador Retriever-mix charged us several times from behind. I turned and walked backwards to play rearguard and banged my hiking sticks together to keep it from approaching.
After about a two mile walk through the woods we emerged onto a well-maintained gravel road. Much to our chagrin, we realized about a half mile down the road that we had missed a turn. But our mistake turned out to be a blessing. Looking at the map, we realized that we were on Hale Ridge Rd, which ran parallel to the Sheltowee Trace. This was blind luck since we were able to avoid trudging down through the hollow. It cut more than an hour’s travel time off our walk.
Down the semi-paved gravel road, Chris, Marty, and I walked into a beautiful dense fog. On both sides we passed lush green farmlands deep in the valley bottoms. At the juncture of Hale Ridge Road and 399 Steve finally caught up with is in his van. He was a bit confused as to why we were making such exceptional time. Chris explained to him that we took a shortcut.
In no time we had reached the blue bridge at Heidelberg (which crosses the Kentucky River). We arrived at our cars at approximately 10:15am.
This was a tough hike, but I was pleased just the same. I learned some new things while on the trail, and despite the road walking, the remote forest sections didn’t disappoint. I’m going to chalk this one up as another great one, and I can’t wait to do it again!
See you next trip!